Why Not Celebrate
by Winchester and Winchester
Summary: SEASON 8 SPOILERS. Takes place after 'Southern Comfort' and adds a bit more to the story. Some necessary resolution between Sam and Dean.
1. Chapter 1

_Takes place a few days after **Southern Comfort**, does not involve **A Little Slice of Kevin**_

* * *

"No, man, I'm serious. Somethin' isn't sitting right," Dean said with a grimace, one arm draped over his thighs while the other pushed on his stomach.

Sam stood from his place at the table, closing his laptop in the process. "Maybe it was from that third burger you ate." He turned away to hide his smile as he walked past the motel bed Dean was on.

The older brother gave a quick smile, shifting to ease the sharp cramps. "Hey, a man's gotta eat."

Sam opened the small bar fridge and pulled out two beers with one hand. "Yeah, eat. Not feast." He walked back to Dean and extended the beer but when Dean shook his head, Sam's smile lessened.

"What's wrong with a little feasting, huh? The ghost is dead, I'm good, you're good, Garth's good - last we heard… why not celebrate, right?"

"Yeah," Sam said, his jaw clenching repeatedly. The uneasiness between them hadn't lifted at all since the conversation by the Impala the other night and Sam knew Dean hadn't forgotten. "Sure."

Dean continued keeping pressure on the growing pain in his abdomen, the low ache becoming harder to ignore. Sam set Dean's beer on the small dresser between the two beds and returned to his seat at the table, this time referring to their father's journal for information. It sometimes surprised Dean that they didn't have that thing memorized word for word by now.

The minutes passed slowly and the only sounds he heard were Sam rubbing the pages between his fingers before flipping them and his own heart beat. The throbbing organ slammed roughly against his ribs, each beat acting as a metronome. He decided that maybe going outside would help instead of sitting in the stuffy motel room. Besides, the 60's theme was making him a little dizzy.

"Where are you going?" Sam asked, looking over his shoulder when Dean stood, his brows furrowing slightly.

"Just gonna get some fresh air."

He stepped toward the door but immediately stopped when a strong cramp gripped his abdomen. Starting to lose his balance, he reached for the bed but instead caught Sam as Sam jumped to his side. Dean's hand rolled into a fist around his brother's sleeve and he gasped. "Hey, hey, Dean, it's okay, here," Sam directed as he half pulled Dean back to the bed and laid him down. Dean rolled onto his side, arms wrapping around his midsection as he groaned. Sam hand pushed over his hair as his worried eyes washed over Dean. He turned and grabbed Dean's keys from the table, stuffed them into his pocket, and knelt beside Dean. "Dean, I'm taking you to the hospital."

"N-no," Dean replied through gritted teeth, his jaw tight. "It's alright, Sammy, I'm fine, it's just -"

Sam didn't give Dean time to make excuses. He grabbed Dean's arm, hefted it over his shoulders and stood, his other arm securing Dean by his side. Dean let out a curse under his breath when they stood, the stretch obviously causing him more discomfort. Sam felt Dean's sweat against him and he moved as quickly as he could to the door and then the car, his concern deepening. Dean's breath caught when Sam opened the car door and helped him in, a wave of nausea accompanying the sharp, squeezing pain.

"It's alright, Dean, just stay awake, alright?" Sam asked as rounded the back of the car and slid into the driver's seat. He shoved the keys into the ignition and hammered the gas nearly to the floor. The tires squealed loudly, either in protest or pleasure. He glanced at Dean, his brother's eyes intentionally wide to keep from passing out. Sam had ignored Dean's comments about not feeling good after eating dinner nearly three hours ago, chocking it up to him being overly full from his overly portioned food. But this was different.

"Hey, Sam?" Dean asked quietly, his forehead resting against the cool window.

"Yeah?" Sam looked at him.

"Are you… seriously going speed limit right now?"

Sam's eyes dipped to the speedometer and his lips curved. "Not even close."

Dean nodded once, his breath fogging the portion of glass around his mouth. "Good."


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you for the reviews so far, guys, it's fun actually extending an episode instead of going totally original! Hope you enjoy :) More to come!_

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Sam hated seeing Dean wheeled into the hospital, the image of him unmoving and silent as they slipped him out of the Impala and strapped him to the gurney replaying in his mind as he waited. He'd gone unconscious halfway to the hospital, his body slumping against the door and remaining that way even when Sam grabbed his shoulder and shook him. This was all too familiar; the hospital, the gurney, the fear. First Dean all those years back after his heart attack, then all of them after the accident with their father, and then Bobby when he'd stabbed himself… and then Bobby again.

"Excuse me, Sam Simmons?"

Sam stood from low seat in the waiting room and shook the Doctor's outstretched hand. "Yes, sir." The older man smiled politely. "Do you know what's wrong with my brother?" Sam glanced at the man's name tag on his white coat and back up to his eyes, the thick rimmed glasses adding the man's concerned appearance.

Dr. Thomas tucked the chart he held to his chest and sighed. "Honestly? Not a clue. His body is fighting very hard but we don't know what it's fighting against. It's like he's in a silent panic, like he's rushing against an invisible clock and he doesn't have the energy to waste on waking up. We're doing more tests now but I wanted to keep you updated."

Sam swallowed hard, trying to take in all that the Doctor said. He gave a quick thank you and sat back down. He stared blankly at the tiled wall, his mind working to come to a reasonable conclusion for Dean's condition. It wasn't food poisoning, he guessed, with the Doctor's having done several preliminary tests that would have concluded something so simple.

The vibration in his pants surprised him and he jumped. The nurse at the desk nearby sat up, watching him. He flashed a smile and waved, holding up his phone so she understood why he reacted, then held it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Hey, Sam, what's up?" Garth's voice was in direct opposition to the cold, weary environment of the hospital. "How you doin' man? Long time no see! Ha, I'm just kidding. Hey, you got a minute?"

Sam couldn't help but smile at the boyish attitude the hunter had. He decided not to tell Garth about their current situation because he knew Garth's next stop would be Victoria Falls Hospital and he didn't really have the energy for his company. "Yeah, yeah, what's up?"

Garth muttered something under his breath then yelled loudly. Sam pulled the phone away from his ear and winced. "Sorry, man, some idjit just cut me off." Sam smiled again. "So what are you up to?"

"What?"

"What?"

"Garth, you called me."

The silence that stretched between them made Sam close his eyes to keep from rolling them too noticeably "Oh… yeah, you're right." Garth giggled incredulously. "Maybe that beer really wasn't such a good idea. Anyhoo, listen, I have some news about that case we worked last."

"Okay?"

"I just got a call from one of the officers that I'd given my card too when Deputy Doug went crazy. He said that Chester, the pancake's son, had a heart attack this afternoon."

Sam ignored Garth's insensitive remark about the victim that had been driven over and sat up. "What? Why?"

"The officer said that Chester asked to go the hospital for abdominal pain and then he passed out in the waiting room. The Doctors said that he - oh crap, wait a second, Sam." Sam waited impatiently, listening while tires squealed in the background and Garth mumbled something about roadkill. "Alright, you still there?"

"Yeah, I'm still here. What did the Doctors say, Garth?"

"They said that his heart gave out from all the stress he was under. His body couldn't take it. But I'll bet that was only part of it and whatever happened to that guy's mind when he was possessed is really what made him go crazy. So I just wanted to pass that along because, you know, of Dean. Just keep an eye on him, a'ight?"

Sam's eyes drifted closed as Garth spoke, his heart pounding. "Yeah, thanks for the heads up. You be careful."

"You got it. Catch ya on the flip side, Sammy!"

Lowering his phone, Sam let out a slow breath.

"Excuse me, Mr. Simmons?" He looked up quickly, eyes locking with the smiling nurse. "They've finished testing for now, the Doctor said you can visit your brother if you'd like."

"Is he awake?"

"No. You don't have to -"

"No, yeah, I want to. What's the room number?" He figured if there was one time he could really talk to Dean without interruption, this would be it.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam stepped into the room and stopped. The scene was all too familiar; Dean laying on the white bed, blankets tucked under his arms and tubes running from machines to his motionless body. The room even smelled the same.

"There's a chair over there," the nurse said, pointing to a thinly padded chair on the opposite side of the room beside Dean's bed. Sam nodded his thanks and crossed the small room, thankful for it not being a shared room. "Talk to him, maybe you can calm him down." Her voice was respectfully quiet and the smile she gave was comforting. Sam smiled in return and watched her leave.

When she closed the door behind her, he sighed loudly, hand dragging over his unshaven jawline. He stared at Dean for a long moment then looked at the quick beeping monitor. Dean's heartbeat was in the low hundreds, he noted with a wince. His brother's face was flushed and slick with sweat, hair gleaming under the florescent lighting. And though he was unconscious, Dean's brow seemed furrowed.

Sam stood, pulled the chair closer to Dean's bed, and sat back down, adjusting in the uncomfortable seat for a moment before settling. "Hey, Dean," he began, feeling a little silly. If Dean really could hear him, he was probably making fun of him. "I know you probably think this is stupid but I don't know if you're in there or around or what but… I'm just gonna talk for a little while cause now you can't butt in." His lips curved in a half-hearted smile. "Uh…" He didn't know where to begin.

Sometimes he still had to look at Dean - really look at him - to make sure he wasn't just imagining him. Dean had been gone for a year and Sam had very slowly begun to adjust to being without him. It was painful; agonizing, really. He remembered the same feeling as when Dean had gone to hell for him. But that had been worse. Every day Sam woke up during the four months he was without Dean to the knowledge that Dean was in Hell for him. That he was in the worst place a mind can think of because of him.

At least this time Dean hadn't gone to Purgatory for any reason besides wrong place, wrong time.

Sam sighed and sat forward, both hands combing through his hair. He could almost hear his brother asking 'Well if you say you're gonna talk are you gonna talk or just sit there like a monk in a strip club?' Resting his elbows on his knees and chin on his folded hands, Sam smiled. "Kinda funny, isn't it? You, here again. And me just sittin' here like before." He glanced away. "Doesn't feel like all that long ago but man… a lot's changed, hasn't it? I mean Dad and you and me and," he stopped, breathing a barely amused chuckle. Taking stock of the times they'd come face to face with death wasn't really funny.

"Alright, first thing's first. Uh, Garth called and he said that Chester, the guy that had been possessed before you, had a heart attack because the ghost left him in some sort of panic, kinda like you. Started with pain and moved to a heart attack. But don't worry, I mean you're here, the Doctors are gonna take care of you, so you know… don't worry." Feeling a little stupid for telling someone who was most likely not listening to him not to worry, Sam scrubbed his eyes with his palms. He glanced at the clock on the wall and sighed again. Three o'clock in the morning, and he was definitely feeling it.

"And secondly," he began, shifting. "You were right. About everything you said when you were possessed. But I meant what I said too. You have a right to be angry at me but I had a right to try for something different, Dean. I mean you were gone, you just… you disappeared, man, how the hell was I supposed to know where to even start looking? For all I knew you were in Heaven with Mom and Ellen and Jo and Bobby." That thought had occurred to him several times in the long hours he'd been working on the car and it gave him an odd sort of comfort; odd because there was no way to know for sure and there was as good a chance that he was in hell.

But he hadn't let himself consider that.

"So yeah, I ran. You'd have done the same thing if I just evaporated into thin air." He paused. "Or maybe you wouldn't have." Considering the time that he'd been dumped in that town by Yellow Eyes and how Dean had used all of his effort to find him, Same felt an edge of guilt creep in. He couldn't properly put into words the panic he'd felt when Dean disappeared or the absolute shock he felt stumbling out of the large building. Or that sick feeling when he saw bodies strewn across the ground and the Impala crashed into the sign.

Sam vividly remembered stopping before getting into the car and retching. He slowly slid under the wheel, the leather seats feeling so much more comfortable after not sitting on them for many months, got her unstuck, and pulled out of the lot. And drove for as long as the car would go. It jerked and heaved and whined and grumbled from its own injuries and when it finally stopped, Sam found an abandoned tool shed, piled the necessary tools into his bag, walked back to the Impala, and began the tedious task of fixing her.

He slept in the shed - or rather laid in the shed. His mind had somehow kicked into survival mode where the only thing he could focus on, the only thing that kept him from screaming at the heavens every night, was fixing the car. Because its what Dean would have wanted.

"I don't know, Dean," Sam whispered, his voice grating against the growing emotions inside. "You were always so good to me. And I'm not trying to be a chick here or anything, but I mean it. After everything we went through, after everything I threw at you and no matter how hard I pushed you away when I wanted to be a jerk, you were always there for me. And… really… thanks." Tears burned his eyes and he blinked them back. "I didn't forget that. I didn't forget you last year. I just didn't know what to do. I was totally lost. I mean it was the first time in my life that I was totally and completely alone."

He stood, thinking maybe he would be better in control of his emotions if he looked out the window and not at his unconscious brother. "And do you wanna know why I stopped using my phones? Because I kept calling yours. Or I would hear one of 'em ring and the only thing I'd think was that it was you. It almost made me crazy so finally I just dumped them all in a box and I put them away." Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he leaned against the wall, eyes taking in the dark landscape, street lights dotting the unfamiliar city with a warm glow.

"Part of me thought that was it, that was my life. And I couldn't hunt alone. I couldn't. I read the obituaries for a while and I caught wind of a few cases as I drove but I just couldn't… I couldn't imagine doing any of it without you. So… I stopped. I found a new life and it kept me busy."

"Busy."

Sam turned quickly, eyes wide. Dean's lids were still closed but his brows had unfurrowed; in fact he looked relaxed. "Dean?" He hurried back to the chair.

"_Busy_."

"What? What about it?"

"You said your new life kept you busy."

Still, Dean didn't open his eyes. "Yeah?" Sam couldn't keep from smiling when he looked at the monitor and saw Dean's heart beat slowly descending.

"You didn't say it made you happy. Just that it kept you busy."

"Okay?"

"So does that mean you were happier huntin' with me then with this girl? I mean if you were bu-"

"Dean, stop, I get it." Sam's smile expanded when Dean's eyes finally opened and met him. "I don't have to answer that question," He said with a broad shrug.

"Why not?" Dean's voice was still hoarse from sleep.

Sam's brows rose quickly, accompanied by a dimpled grin. "Because you're awake. I just said that stuff to wake you up."

A flicker of disappointment crossed Dean's expression but was immediately gone, eclipsed by a boyish smile. "That is good to know, Sammy." His eyes closed and he began to snore. Loudly. In between a snorted breath, he whispered, "Alright continue."

"How long were you awake?" Sam asked over the obnoxious noise but Dean just continued, his lips curving seemingly against his will. "Alright, shut up." Sam laughed as he gave Dean's arm a gentle shove before walking to the table at the end of his bed.

Dean stopped snoring and lifted his head. "What're you doin'?"

Sam pulled out two cups from the pile of clear plastic cups and set them on the tray, pouring ice cold water into them evenly. Lifting them, he walked back to Dean and held one out. "Here."

"What's this for?" Dean asked, taking it hesitantly.

"I'm good, you're good," Sam said with a smile. "What's not to celebrate, huh?"

Dean sat up, careful of the things he was hooked up to, and gently knocked his cup against Sam's. "Here here."

**End**


End file.
